Moulin Rouge: Encore
by LittleTeine
Summary: There was a girl. A very strange enchanted girl...
1. Scene 1: The Beggar Girls

Author's Note: So basically I'm a huge fangirl and a romantic - I hate the thought of Christian and Zidler and the Moulin Rouge being done forever.

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**ENCORE**

**_Scene 1_**

**JANUARY, 1910**

**Scene: Night. From above, hills covered in snow. A large city visible very far off. Zoom in slightly. In the middle of the hills a small village is now visible, lots of small cottages clustered together, lights on. A few people in the snow covered streets. Zoom in again. A window in one of the cottages. Through it we see a young woman sitting at a typewriter. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a soft chignon and she is wearing a green tweed skirt and jacket, with an ivory shirtwaist. Final zoom. She looks up from the typewriter for a moment. We notice her eyes are a brilliant shade of green. She smiles, and continues typing**

Emilie's voice: _My name is Emilie. Not so very long ago, I left behind my beloved Montemarte for this little village in the country where I sit now, typing the story eagerly spilling from my fingertips._

_A very wise and kind man, my teacher, said to me once:_

Christian's voice:_ Emilie, you must not mistake stories as sentient lifeless things. You do not have power over them; they have immense power over you. Never even think otherwise, do you hear me?_

Emilie's voice: _Then he threw down his pen and stormed out of the room, all because I had merely suggested that I could not pry the correct words from my brain._

_Oh yes, I was afraid of my teacher for a long while. But as a maid at the Moulin Rouge ,a student courtesan, a petit coquette, who else was there to indulge my passion for words?_

_Courtesans, even student courtesans, we are not allowed any other passions than those of the night._

_My teacher, he says one of my worst faults as a writer is an utter refusal to keep to my topic, as I am doing now. It is a shame, really, as this story I am telling you is ever so important…_

**Scene: Flashback. Zoom to Montemarte, streetcorner in the spring. Two little ragged beggar girls, one with blonde hair and the other with red, are calling out to passing people. The red haired one looks a little older, and pauses a moment to scold her sister.**

**APRIL, 1890**

Mirette: Emilie, you are not pouting enough. (_she pinches her sister's cheek_)

Emilie, with a hand to her face, angry: Ow. But Miri, I am trying!

Mirette: You are, but trying will not bring us money. Here, give me your other cheek. Pinching roses into them makes your eyes glimmer.

Emilie, moving away, still angry: No, Miri, it hurts

_laughter, Emilie and Mirette both look up to see a woman and a man. The woman is strikingly beautiful, and the man is rotund with an almost comical appearance. They begin to talk to each other, loud enough so that the girls can hear too._

Satine: Look at them! They would make the most perfect _petit coquettes_, oh Harold do agree.

Zidler: Ah, dove, they are most fetching creatures. The one with the red hair, like yours, she already has the mind of one of us. And the smaller one, look at those beautiful green eyes!

_At this Mirette preens and Emilie wrinkles her nose_

Zidler, continuing: But pigeon, imagine if we picked up every stray your sweet heart broke for. We'd turn the Moulin Rouge into an orphanage instead of the fine establishment it is!

Emilie, interrupting: You mean brothel.

_Zidler's face darkens, and he opens his mouth, but Satine talks before he can_

Satine, laughing: You see? Look at the fire in this one! (_she touches Emilie's face_) Harold, you always say that is the most intriguing thing about a woman – men love to tame their fire.

Zidler, still frowning slightly: Well, yes, but Satine…

Satine, pouting: Harold, I shall be furious if we do not take these two angels into the arms of the Moulin Rouge, simply furious!

Mirette, eagerly: Oh please do, M. Zidler. My sister and I should love to become _petit coquettes_!

Zidler throws up his hands: How can I say no to such charm? Oh, I will rue the day you ladies become courtesans, for you will have me wrapped around your fingers just like my Satine. _(he pinches Satine's cheek)_ Come, let us get you girls clean and beautiful.

_he ushers the girls ahead)_

Zidler, quietly: Sparrow, why did you beg so for me to take the girls?

_(Satine shakes her head, and motions for Zidler to catch up with the girls. He takes each by the hand. Satine stays where she is for a moment, and looks at the sky.)_

Satine, dreamily/sadly: Because they remind me so much of myself.

**Scene: Zoom out, we see Satine start walking again, up the street toward the Moulin Rouge. We hear (older) Emilie's voice again**

Emilie: _And so, our circumstances changed in an instant. From penniless orphans to petit coquettes, picked by the hand of The Sparkling Diamond herself! Mirette was thrilled beyond measure. She took to it naturally. Mirette is like that: she loves to make people happy and the admiration she is granted in return. And I?_

_At the Moulin Rogue, the essence of The Bohemian Revolution…_

_In my own way, I thrived too._

**Scene: Moulin Rouge theme plays. Pan to the Moulin Rouge and zoom out slowly.**

**END SCENE 1**


	2. Scene 2: The Promise

**ENCORE**

**Scene 2**

**September, 1898**

**Scene: Emilie is washing the windows of The Elephant. Her hair is pulled back in a braid and she wears an apron over a dark blue dress, mended in some places. Satine sits on the bed eating an apple. She looks very comfortable, with minimal makeup and wearing a simple dress, with a high neck and thin buttoned sleeves like Emilie's. Toulouse sits across from her on a chair, holding a sheaf of papers and talking excitedly. **

Toulouse: So you see, Mme. Satine, if you can just convince M. Zidler to _consider_, even _glance_, at this new play of mine, I believe it will be an absolutely _monumental_ step towards your acting career…

Satine, carelessly: Oh Toulouse you know how important this little dream of mine is to me, but Harold is insistent. He is like my papa, you know, having rescued me from the streets in much the same manner as our Emilie and Mirette, (at this Emilie lifts her head and smiles shyly at Satine), and he feels that I am above that sort of life.

_Her voice grows softer and for a moment she smiles wistfully_.

Toulouse: And how sad for you Mme. Satine, and for my friends in the acting world! But M. Zidler, you know, perhaps he is right – the life of an actor is much different from this (he gestured to the lavish furnishings), and you would be an actress, Mme., not an actor.

Satine, wryly: I am aware of this fact, Toulouse.

Toulouse, laughing nervously: No Mme, _non_, what I am trying to say is, is: the acting world is very hard for women, you know.

_Satine sits upright, eyes flashing_.

Satine: Did you not write me a part, Toulouse? Did you not design your latest work _specifically_ so that the main character would display my talents? And now you sit here, _daring_ to suggest that because I am a woman, I should leave my dreams like that?

Toulouse, hurriedly: No, no, not at all Mme. Satine, you know I think most highly of your talents.

Satine, settling back down: Good. Then read me that scene again, so that I may judge it better.

Toulouse, still slightly nervous:

_And I dare not love him, for my heart is promised to another. _

_Oh, but if I could! Until my dying day I would, until my _

_very last breath I would…_

Satine, misty-eyed: The comtese would what, Toulouse?

Toulouse: Oh Mme., here the words are not flowing from my muse as they normally do! But I am certain, when she feels fit to grace me; this passage will be the jewel of my work.

Emilie, quietly: _Until my very last breath, I would __lovehimwitheveryfragmentofmybeing._

Satine, curiously: What did you say, Emilie?

Toulouse: Do not be afraid to speak, child!

Emilie: _Until my very last breath, I would love him with every fragment of my being_.

Satine, clapping her hands: Oh yes, yes, Toulouse that's it! Our _petit coquette_, she too is graced by your muse of words!

Toulouse, writing furiously: My muse speaks to me through this enchanting child! What is your name, _ma cherie_?

Emilie: Emilie, Mounsier. (she pauses, as if debating whether or not to say something). I have read your volume of poetry and enjoyed it very much.

Toulouse: Thank you, _merci_! I must be off mademoiselles, my muse is speaking!

_He shoves his hat on haphazardly, and runs out the door_.

Satine, laughing and falling back on the bed: Brilliant, Emilie, Brilliant!

Emilie: _Merci_.

Satine, seriously: Promise me this.

Emilie, confused: What is it, Mme.?

Satine: Promise me that you will not listen to men like Toulouse and M. Zidler, oh yes, even the two kindest men I know; say you will not listen when they tell you you cannot write because you are a woman.

Emilie: But I will never become a writer, Mme.

Satine: But you want it.

Emilie, without hesitation: Yes.

_Satine stands up and takes Emilie's hand, and places a finger to Emilie's chin._

Satine: Then, _cherie_, fly away from here. Those lovely eyes, they do not belong to a can-can dancer. I feel as if they cut through lies and see only –

Zidler: Truth! Beauty! Freedom! Love! Ah, the revolution is a marvelous thing…for business. Emilie, Marie is looking for you! Mirette has already arranged the vanities.

_He gives Emilie a firm look._

Emilie, slightly defiantly: I'll go, M. Zidler.

_She makes a move to leave, but Satine pulls on her hand._

Zidler: Dove, you have an… (he looks at Emilie and changes his words) _amie _who wishes to meet you.

Satine, ignoring Zidler: Promise me, Emilie.

Zidler: Dove?

Satine: Promise me!

Zidler: SATINE!

_Emilie looks straight into Satine's eyes and squeezes her hand._

Emilie: I promise, Satine.

**END SCENE**


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